


Tell me about when the world crumbled beneath your feet

by Laeana



Series: ←a far wholesome love than theirs→ [1]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Daniel Trying To Be Here For Max, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Five emotional wounds, Hopeful Ending, Loneliness, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Rejection, Self-Esteem Issues, stubborn Max
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:48:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27820264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeana/pseuds/Laeana
Summary: It wasn't even funny.The ability Max had to end up covered with wounds, bruises, without even needing to be hit.
Relationships: Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen
Series: ←a far wholesome love than theirs→ [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035801
Comments: 8
Kudos: 49





	Tell me about when the world crumbled beneath your feet

**Author's Note:**

> It is said that there are five emotional wounds that can mark our being forever. Wounds that can forge us, forge our soul.  
> In a world ruled by feelings, some beings are endowed with such sensitivity that the feeling of these wounds can mark their skin, where others can injure themselves without even feeling pain.

( **About how the moon was hiding in your darkest hours.** )

* * *

It wasn't even funny.

The ability Max had to end up covered with wounds, bruises, without even needing to be hit. Anyone who would have discovered his secret could have laughed at his fragility, the fact that he literally seemed to be made of glass. 

But he always kept this secret so well, as if his life depended on it, he clung to it with all his might. He couldn't let a single person know and use it at his expense. He could not.

Not even his father.

It's like bruises, simple marks on his skin that disappear and fade as soon as he allows a little time to pass. Such as real bruises, it's true.

He knows that most people in the world have normal sensitivity, that very few have it that high, like his … why did he have to be one of the exceptions ? He would have prefered do without.

Five kinds of emotional wounds, he knows that each person can only be really sensitive to one of them.

He did finally realize it.

His nemesis is rejection.

He hesitated for a long time, confusing abandonment and rejection before finding out the terrible subtleties that were existing between these two and understanding how terrible it was for him, terrible as an achievement.

There is something sweeter about rejection, something slower, something that can be repeated too, that doesn't happen just once. And which can come several times from the same person.

He has this terrible fear of being rejected, of not corresponding to the aspirations of others, it’s a sudden, sharp, bitter pain. Hot. Almost a kind of shame when that happened.

But he remembers being different, even as a kid, and he remembers how much it hurt. He always hid all his sores, or he just had to make excuses. Terribly good at lying.

His father was very good at hurting him, without even knowing it. Maybe it was his fault for wanting to look for too much love without really deserving it. Regardless, the most wounds searing were made there.

By closing his eyes, he still memorizes and maps the impacts, the places where his skin has been marked.

Now so white.

It's specific, in a way. He can't be hurt by just anyone, that's what makes his will, his urge to get away from those he loves so easy. To be less present, more evasive.

Perhaps less appreciable.

Max just tries to protect himself, to avoid suffering again, to realize, inevitably, that his feelings are not shared, that he’s not necessary for the lives of others.

He saw friendships forming, without him he saw himself being relegated, being abandoned, without a second thought and he decided that he had had enough, that he had given of himself.

This impassiveness, this impulsiveness, this frankness which had been reproached to him was going to become a wall.

His problem has always been that his sensitivity has been terribly misinterpreted. It was so easy to believe that nothing was happening to him, that he was even a little more indifferent than normal, and he wanted to laugh in their face.

Laugh in their face at what has so often made him cry in despair. 

He never asked for these overflows of emotions, these battles inside his own head, these insecurities, these breakdowns … he never wanted them.

He keeps them as infinitely precious ; it is. It's a part of him, he could never erase it. But it's such a curse, such a burden … 

He may find himself wanting more love than he deserves.

An observation that comes back to him often, an unfortunate observation perhaps. And, maybe living alone makes you live happier.

The rejection.

How easy it is to feel rejected when you love someone. How easy it is to feel rejected when you love Daniel Ricciardo.

Because this man is many things, loved by so many people.

Baku might not even be the worst, even if it does draw some hellish bruises. He doesn't know how to stop, he never knows when to stop. He's not weak, he's awfully stronger than that. He has been through too many ordeals to stop now.

Daniel's departure for Renault, on the other hand, has a special taste on his lips. He thinks betrayal, but that is not correct. It’s rather as if the Aussie had become impermeable to him, inaccessible to him. 

Their relationship that wasn't much, a thinly veiled friendship. Who was free to break at any time and it was more … more like rejection.

His friend didn't want him in his things, hadn't even bothered to inform him personally, and it was probably time for Max to distance himself. Probably what was expected of him.

Pretty sad.

A lonely life.

Then Daniel comes back to him again. But Daniel seems to come back to everyone, get along desperately well with everyone, with Charles, and he realizes that this is not what he wants, that it’s never what he wants.

For a moment, he still has the faint hope that the Aussie has been thinking of him, that he has missed him, that he wants them to be close again, like before.

It's just-

Shared hotel rooms, back doors, laughing evenings amidst silly jokes and terribly cliché sitcoms, celebrating together their victories, their defeats, seeking solace, to just spending time together inviting each other to eat at each other's house because they decided it would be a fantastic idea to live so close together.

A bygone era. His heart on the edge of his lips every time he thinks about it. A year when he was so close to having everything he wanted. And this year is different in too many ways, he doesn't like it at all.

So many elements that lead to probably the most embarrassing evening of his entire life. Because he is miserable and feels miserable and has the bad of getting drunk almost dead drunk and calling Daniel next, Daniel who is always just a few steps from his apartment in Monaco.

The conversation is blurry, but he clearly remembers confessing his feelings to the older man. Telling him that he loved him romantically and that Daniel had laughed in his face, telling him that he was drunk and that anyway it was not possible between them.

If he was so high, how could he have remembered it so well ?

The constellation of bruises that had bloomed all along his left flank had a great deal to do with it. Almost pretty, almost artistic. The black, the purple, the blue, the green bursting on his pale skin, standing out.

Rejection.

One-sided feelings, as he expected.

Suffice to say that during a season with covid, he expected to have even less contact and controversies fly around him and he prefers not to confront it. Maybe that’s a cowardly move from him for once.

He doesn't want to get hurt from strangers, he doesn't want to focus on remarks, words, so many words. 

Alex, George, Charles and Lando make a nice bunch, a nice skewer, and a feeling slowly creeps in his chest and he hates himself to think about it.

He's not even concerned.

He remains Lando's friend and it is not because he has formed a group that he will stop talking to him, stop laughing with him. It's just insecurity that forms and swells in the middle of his thoughts, his personality, he feels unstable.

He feels fragile somewhere.

It's his secret, it's a secret he doesn't share with anyone else and it weighs heavily and it's been so long. Tired too, it's true. He would have liked to be able to confide, that's not shameful, in itself. He is afraid that it will be used against him and that all these walls he has erected around him are no longer useful.

But if the other pilots start to question their friendship, their connection with him, how could he even convince them to stay ? 

What if he was a terrible person after all ?

These are the kinds of things he doesn't allow himself to think about. It's a sinkhole far too deep and he dives into it without ever having anything to hold on to and it hurts terribly, so badly that for a moment he thinks he can see other wounds appearing on his skin but it's not a rejection.

It's not a rejection in itself so it makes it less worse, less horrible. He has to keep his self-confidence high, just enough not to sink. Just enough not to think about it anymore, yes.

He's probably not good enough for Daniel. This is why his rejection hurts him as much as it seems logical to him and he does not even fight it. He didn't stand a chance from the start, how could Daniel even want him ?

He is constantly cut in half, shared between emotions that clearly do not make the connection between them. He really hurts, deep down.

And maybe it's better for him to be sensitive only to rejection, be the only thing visible, because the wounds would be much harder to explain otherwise.

When the first party arrives, he's not even surprised.

He sees vague posts, Instagram stories and he understands, biting his lip, that he was not invited.

Which in itself shouldn't be such a shocking achievement, the past few weekends have already proven to him that he can find himself quite isolated from time to time, surrounded by people but more alone than ever.

His condition adds a particular flavor to his life, of challenge.

Max likes to use humor, to turn away from his own feelings, from his own sensations. Because to focus on it would be terrible, because to focus on it is to visualize what is wrong and how wrong it is. He’s already taking into account the damage, the damage.

He doesn't count how many people there are. There are F1 drivers, of all ages, he sees pass and the question of why resounds in his mind with force.

He swallows back his tears.

He tries to think about what his father was saying, surely things about that there was no need for friendship, that there were only rivals, that …

That's not what he currently needs.

He brings his knees to his chest, in his bed, laying down, the only thing illuminating the room is his phone screen on which scrolls a video of several pilots - Charles, Daniel, Lando and George in the background - laughing, music playing background.

He just spent a miserable evening, alone, because he doesn't know how to communicate his emotions anyway. He only knows how to be brutally honest to make himself appreciate or silence his innermost feelings, because they probably won't please anyone. Because nobody wants to hear it anyway.

His vision blurs. It's like a personal defeat. He feels the tears rolling down his cheeks, so hot, and he's terribly cold. The video cuts out as his phone turns off, on standby, and he struggles to realize. He feels so miserable.

It's hard to admit that to yourself.

Sobs pass his lips. He's tired of being alone, he's so tired of it. He's tired of being judged for everything he does, until it hurts. Until he was left out and it showed up on his body.

He feels the pain. Don't want to think about it. He doesn't want to see this new cloud of bruises that must have appeared along his ribs ; he is afraid to see them and realize that his suffering is perhaps worse than what he manages to externalize.

To feel bad, what a strange feeling.

Or rather not feeling well.

Maybe it's a week gone by and he sighs when he sees his reflection in the mirror, tries to avoid it as much as possible. Do not look at the bruises.

It's not something that impacts his driving or his races after all. It can hurt, his suit pressing a bit on it sometimes, but never anything serious.

Is it by obligation or by semblance of countenance ?

A second party is organized, he has already forgotten the pretext, and he is invited this time. He is on the verge of refusing, because he does not want to be pitied, but then Daniel looks up at him, a glimmer of hope deep inside of his eyes, and smiles at him, bright, and he does not want to backtrack.

Still too weak in front of this man, what to say.

And the evening is relatively good. He just about feels comfortable. Or at least not so much outside his comfort zone, and his laughter is genuine and his smiles are sincere. He still missed them. He has the impression of not having been able to see the other pilots, those of his age, Lando, Alex, Pierre, for a long time.

He feels like he hasn't seen Daniel for a long time, when their last interaction was dating back to the last race weekend ? 

Then it happens.

Charles' apartment is big enough to avoid them being on top of each other. Max still feels a bit cramped, but more because the Monegasque is terribly neutral towards him this evening. 

Lando probably has one too many drinks as he trips and spills all of his drink on his gray t-shirt. His wrist coming in passing slap in one of his ribs.

And the movement is weak but he still has a little squeak of pain, because that's exactly where his injuries are.

Then there's-

There's the rush, the crowd’s move. He has to hang on to his shirt with all his might to keep him from getting undressed in front of everyone. His secret still in hand. 

Charles takes him into the bedroom, to give him a spare top, Daniel follows them quite closely. 

It's not that strange that he's looking for some privacy, he's never been the type of person to walk around in his negligee. He doesn't like it and when injuries appear he prefers to avoid all questions. It's easier than making excuses.

No one is really sober.

He takes off his t-shirt, grimaces at the feeling wet and sticky and fuck, what a night. He should have asked for an extra towel from his host. He indulges in a few meager thoughts, debating whether or not he should let the liquid dry before he gets dressed and is surprised by a muffled exclamation.

He turns around then, a very bad reflex, and comes face to face with Daniel who is staring at him, eyes wide.

Brain fogged, it takes a few moments before realizing why the Aussie seems so surprised, worried.

“Max … those injuries …”

Max looks down at his chest. The situation is uncomfortable, he feels himself blushing, ashamed and embarrassed. He knows he has a few marks on his back. It's only been a week, the burn is still sharp, its aftereffects have not disappeared, still a pale purple, which is starting to turn into another shade.

“You … you weren't supposed to see this.” He whispers, slamming the t-shirt against his chest, trying to hide them, but it's already too late.

Daniel extends a hand towards him but he immediately pulls back and feels divided when he sees the pained, almost sad expression of the older man.

“Max … who did this to you ? I swear to you-”

“What's taking you so long ? Hope you don't do anything in my room !” Charles' voice rises as he in turn enters the bedroom and stops on the threshold upon seeing him, and what must have been a joke immediately falls flat.

The worst that could happen to him in an evening. Too many people finding out his secret, or misinterpreting it, he honestly doesn't know what is worse. Spare him those pitying looks …

“Max ? What …”

He drops down on the bed behind him, miffed, head in his arms. It wasn't supposed to be like this, it wasn't supposed to happen. He can't believe it. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to breathe for a few moments, unsure of everything.

He hears the accumulation, other exclamations of surprise, the people who come back more and more and he swims in the middle of a nightmare. He doesn't want to explain himself in front of so many people. Submerged on all sides. 

Max tries to breathe, it's too noisy. He only hears that and an indistinct whisper, a hubbub of words that doesn't seem to make sense.

“Max, Max look at me.”

He opens his eyes again. Daniel sits beside him, one hand on his knee, worried. The room is empty, Charles is standing in the doorway, he seems to have taken everyone out.

"What happened to you ? Who did this to you ?” whispers the Aussie, gently.

It may be less burdensome, with fewer people, but it's terribly more intimate and it doesn't change anything at the end of it. Having to reveal his secret to someone. It terrifies him.

“None of you were supposed to see this, I …” he never seems to come to the end of his sentences, his voice choking in his throat.

“Did you get beaten up ? …no, it's something daily, it seems to be.”

He shakes his head.

“No one laid a hand on me.”

He folds the shirt down, feeling much better covered. Even though Daniel's gaze is so piercing that he seems to be seeing through the fabric.

“Do you have a high sensitivity Max ?” Charles asks, clear, concise, and in his eyes shines a light. He knows. 

“Yes. That's where they come from, you just got it.”

Silence falls over the room. There is a second question that comes after this one, he knows it, he already guesses it.

“Your emotional wound … what is it ?” It’s only the Monegasque who continues to speak and Daniel's silence almost surprises him.

Because maybe he has nothing to say about it, that he has nothing to say to him. Maybe the words just don't seem to come to him for once.

“The rejection.”

A burst of guilt bursts across his former teammate's face and it's not something he wants to see. Honestly. Worse than pity. It's not a handicap, it's not …

“Why haven't you ever told me anything ?” Daniel whispers, eyes wide, not understanding.

No one else is included, but Max feels Charles' gaze on him as well. As well as those who are outside the room. They'll all have the same question, it's valid for everyone no matter how intimate the older one makes it sound.

“For ? What would that have changed ? Would you have been more considered towards me ? Walking on eggshells ?” he scoffs, hating every second of what's going on “Pity ? Thank you but no thanks, it was much easier that people think I was insensitive, it was just up to me to sort things out, no one else.”

He gets up, his mood has subsided. It was a terrible idea and a terrible mistake.

“Do you want to know who did this to me, Dan ? All of you, every single of you. Even wounds you will never see. But it's not even like I can blame anyone besides myself for being so weak .. for being so affected by what's going on around me; I shouldn't.”

Another shaky breath, he clenches his fist to hold back his trembling. Daniel walks towards him but he immediately backs away, refusing all contact.

“I'd be better off as an insensitive character and couldn’t-give-a-damn approach, I'd be better without it all. By being a little less me.” he looks down. “But it was probably a mistake to come tonight in itself.”

He turns on his heel, walks out of the room, leaving his poor t-shirt on the floor. He does not leave time for his two interlocutors to catch up with him and rushes outside, ignoring the crowd of fuzzy faces waiting for him ready to go into battle in the living room.

As he moves further away from the building, what he has just done catches him squarely in the face - and the next consequences too.

He shouldn't have told them, it was a terrible mistake.

He closes his eyes, letting the cold air hit him more vehemently, clearing his thoughts. All alcohol definitely seems out of his system now. Too many emotions, too many things at once. A catalyst.

His feelings in his chest don't subside. There are many things at the same time but what is strongest remains … undoubtedly his love for Daniel.

Maybe because he's lived too long with it, maybe that's why he seems so inseparable from himself.

He's been rejected once, though. He doesn't seem to know when to give up.

He feels drained. Emotionally. It was too much. 

He returns to his apartment and throws himself on his bed as soon as he can. Or rather, withdraw this foreign body from him, Cologne which he does not like on it, and let go.

But these are not the only plans for him apparently. The evening is not over yet.

About ten minutes later, a repetitive drumming sounds at his door and he moans into his pillow. He doesn't want to go open. He puts on a sweatshirt and ends up doing it anyway.

Of all of them, he wouldn't necessarily have waited for Daniel to run after him.

“Dan ? What are you doing here ? Didn't you … stay at the party ?”

“People weren't in the mood for it anymore.” the Aussie responds, simply shrugging his shoulders, and he bites his lip.

“Oh. I'm … I'm sorry. I should have been more careful.”

Daniel shakes his head sharply, before stopping dead in his gesture, thinking for a second.

“Can we go inside ?”

Max does not answer, is content to move and then closes the door behind his guest. They end up on the sofa in his living room, and it's probably the most embarrassing meeting he's ever had.

“So ?” he asks again, echoing his first question.

“So I think there are things we need to talk about, Max.”

“You had been pretty clear though, I don't see … I don't understand the point. Nor even to talk about what has just been discovered. It doesn’t change anything.”

“Four years, Max.”

The reminder makes him wince, almost like a whip, but it's not the tone that makes him feel so much, rather calm, smooth, but what it means.

“We've known each other for over four years and during all those years you haven't told me anything. Why … why stay in pain alone ? I could have been there, I should have been there for you.”

“It wouldn't have changed anything, you can't protect me from everything, you can't protect me from myself. You were much better without having to worry about it all, you had other things to do.” He answers without hesitation, direct, sure of himself, because he has never dared to consider a different past anyway.

“This is not true.”

Daniel has a slow breath during which he puts a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at him. The liveliness of his pupils takes his breath away.

“It's not true and you know it, Max.” words that touch him in the heart when he does not have the strength to turn away “And I won't leave you all alone, I promise you.”

“It's not your job, you don't have to force yourself to do it and-” his voice breaks on the last word, desperate accents “And you didn't want me, you didn't love me, I don't understand why you're still here !”

The Aussie’s lips crash into his but he pushes him away forcefully, refusing to let him touch him.

“Max …”

“You can't try to fix everything like this.”

“Did you see the state you were in ? You couldn't line up three words, I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it.”

He just remembers the rejection and the pain it caused. He remembers crying all night …

“You cried all night and I held you close to me the whole time, you were inconsolable, I …”

Max doesn't remember. This is the first thing that comes to mind. He remembers sobbing for hours and hours but he can't remember if anyone was with him. His brain wanted so badly to forget. 

“I'm sorry, Max, I don't know what to tell you …”

The truth that seems to have emerged between them sows a long silence. They look each other in the eyes, Daniel sighs.

“You didn't say anything to me either and I thought I was the person you were closest to.”

A complaint, but not quite. He shrugs his shoulders.

“Nobody knew about it, nobody ever knew about it.”

“Not even Lando ? Another one of your relatives ? Your family ? Your … your father ?”

Confessions late at night, words making their way out of his lips. Like they've been waiting a little too long to get out. 

“No one.”

“Can I …”

This is a question that is not formulated. The Aussie has a hand on his. He wonders what is the right thing to do. He doesn't want to be pitied, he thinks he can't survive a second rejection yet again, but it's so tempting that he …

Daniel's lips on his once more.

But that's not all, the older man's arms close around him, and he can't help but let out a sigh, a sense of security.

Despite everything, despite his apprehensions, despite the fact that nothing will ever stop him from suffering from wounds, from suffering from what others do to him; there is nothing he can do about it. He has already lived with it for 23 years.

“I'll protect you, Max, I swear.”

And that's probably proof of love, even if he can't believe, even though he wishes he could believe it. 

“You are an idiot, Dan.” he whispers, head in his neck, still in the embrace “I don't think that will change anything.”

There is so much to do and he probably has an entire room to talk to and he's terribly afraid of it. And he spent so many years hiding his feelings rather than exposing how he felt, it was for good reason.

Daniel seems to tighten the embrace slightly, depositing a trail of kisses on his neck, tender, soft, contrasting with everything he has always known. With this pain, so much pain.

“But that doesn't stop me from trying.”

**Author's Note:**

> A little project I started now ... I don't know how it will go honestly. There are five parts in total, one per each wound, I'll try to write about each of those, so I hope you like that serie ...?
> 
> tumblr : laeana


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